


Fulfilment of Balls

by zuzuzukas_dream



Series: naegis journey to getting laid [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: College AU, Daddy kink mention, I dont know how to write, M/M, SEQUEL TO NAEGI MAKOTO'S BEST WORST DAY, Same Age, hajime drools uwu, hajime is trans, i cant write smut especially im sorry, it ends abruptly im tired its like 10pm, theyre both super gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11766807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzuzukas_dream/pseuds/zuzuzukas_dream
Summary: alternatively, the sequel to naegi makoto's best worst day where things happen or whatever





	Fulfilment of Balls

**Author's Note:**

> togami is still hajimes dad  
> dont read this if u havent read the first fic  
> dont read any of my fics actually  
> theyre bad

It's a few weeks after the incident with the... you know what.

Makoto and Hajime haven't gotten very busy like that lately - not that it isn't understandable entirely. Not that it isn't completely logical and probably the best conclusion for the pair of them at this current stage. But, that's simply how it is, and the pair of them - after passing their exams - now find themselves stuck for things to do on Hajime's futon. It's warm, and in the glow of Summer, Hajime's eyes are a startling gold.

The comfort spot is to their left at the moment, as it's too hot to be covered in such a mass of quilts. His laptop sits open, on it some shade of OST from a game they both enjoy, and in the gentle movements of Hajime's fingers in Makoto's hair, there's a sense of hypnotic peace.

An almost-silence, rippling with the notes of pianos and violins and the whisperings of wind, leaves space for quite a bit of thoughtfulness. And so, the pair of them have submitted to this nervous state - the kind of seriousness that is only barely attainable by two almost-adults, since one of them keeps looking up to see if his gaze will be met, and one of them refuses to look down at the other because he's scared to be seen so serious, which is kind of ridiculous, because not looking at someone doesn't mean they can't see you.

The study books they've since abandoned didn't quite make their way into a drawer or bag. As though slain in their attempt, they sit idly on the floor beside the desk. The chair's shadow takes the sun off of them, and from where Makoto lay, he makes his brain hurt by trying to work out what they say. The perspective is too warped. It requires too much energy.

So, he rolls onto his side. Hajime's futon creases and tugs beneath him, and he stretches out his legs as to avoid knocking into the ones now in front of him.

His mind has been everywhere thus far. When they arrived, it started on the dumb red boxers that Hajime had left on his floor, but it felt too weird and intrusive so he started thinking about Zelda. That's what brings them to this ambient, actually: right now, Midna's Lament threatens to drag him into an emotional mood. He's thought about when he'll actually return Kyouko's notes - she's not too bothered right now, but he knows she likes to stay organised. And now, he's thinking about Hajime's dumb shirt.

He's thinking that it's cute. It's a very deep thought.

A yawn bubbles from Hajime's mouth, eyes squeezed shut. When it ends, he licks his lips and makes a few subtle popping noises, to which Makoto can't help but laugh.

"What?" Hajime asks, lifting an arm in front of him to look down at his boyfriend.

"That. The -" Makoto mimics the noises he's just heard. "Those noises. What's that about?"

A huff can barely touch the growing smile on Hajime's lips. "Shut up. Shoo. I don't deserve to be bullied in my own house."

"Not bullying you," the fluffier boy says, readjusting his position so that he's on his front, his calves and feet now in the air. His chin rests on his hands. "Just admiring you. Inquiring about you-"

"Being gay about me," says Hajime, pursing his lips together and sitting up.

He runs his finger along the mouse pad of the laptop, before scrolling down the playlist and finding another song. "It hasn't played this yet," he murmurs, and The Great Sea starts to play. It's kind of amusing, actually, since it changes the mood entirely. "I wanted to hear it..."

"Cute," Makoto says, grinning. "I remember that one. Good game. We should replay it together."

The taller boy rolls back toward the bed sheets and lays his arms out. "Too tired," he says simply, and his head lolls to the side. Makoto's about to lay down too when he adds, "Not to be boring. I'm just... It's snooze time."

"Maybe," his boyfriend mumbles, before crawling into a cuddle with him. Hajime snuffles as Makoto's head nuzzles beneath his chin. He looks up at the bronze boy. "Or, we could just talk."

"About what?" Hajime's interest is piqued.

But, Makoto didn't have anything in mind. "Abooout..." he says, buying time. His brows furrow lightly. "We could eat. Do you guys have good snacks?"

"'M gonna munch," Hajime says, staring at the ceiling. "I'm gonna crunch."

Makoto is fascinated with the reply, but waits for something genuine.

Hajime looks at him. "Oh- oh, well. Maybe. But, we already ate." A groan sounds from the boy laying on him. "I know. Insightful conversation."

"I'm just bored," Naegi says. "Super bored. Like, I could eat myself bored."

"Don't eat yourself."

Makoto starts shoving his hand in his mouth. "Um gomma ea' muhseh," he declares, which roughly translates to, 'I'm a bored idiot, please take pity on me and give me something to do.'

Hajime nudges him off. "Eww. If you're going to do that, don't do it near me," he laughs, frowning incredulously through his amusement.

And so, he removes his hand from his mouth. He sits up and wipes his hand on one of the dumb faces on his shirt, internally apologising for its suffering. Hajime pipes up, "You can kiss me instead," and Makoto doesn't need to be asked twice before he leans down for a peck and a giggle.

Looking down at him - and making him very nervous - Makoto's head starts to wander again, and he sits up properly alongside him. "Y'know," he says, "I should try to count your freckles sometime. They're... really pretty."

A flustered splutter comes from Hajime. "Pff. You can try, if you want. There's a lot of them."

"Alrighty." Makoto laughs and ghosts one finger ghosting over Hajime's cheek. "There's one. And, there's two, three, four, five, six..."

Hajime's eyes flicker, narrowed in amusement, up at him as he counts aloud. Across the bridge of his nose, pointing to every one of them and whispering, having had to recount once, Makoto reaches forty-seven. Then, he moves down to his neck and pushes on the collar of his shirt.

"I think I can see forty-eight," he says, and looks at Hajime's face. "Can't reach it, though."

Said boy smiles as though in the face of death. Though, his cheeks are red. "I never said you'd succeed."

"Are you asking me to pull your shirt off? Is that what we're going with here?" Makoto asks. "It feels like that's what you're going with here. I can't stop now-"

One of Hajime's hands nudges his shoulder and he laughs, pulling at a quilt to hide himself. "No fucking way. Try it and I'll squash you like a bug."

His boyfriend is left with a choice, which he spends a few moments making with narrowed, eyes. Pink lips pull into a smirk. "I'm not about to deny that you could do that," he starts, and Hajime's eyebrows raise warningly, teasingly. "But, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do-"

Hajime's hand is up again, but this time with a flat palm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wait. I'll do it," he says. It's to Makoto's own surprise. He realises there has to be a catch. "If you admit why you really want my shirt off, then I'll do it."

"Whoa. Whoa. This got spicy," says Makoto. Hajime immediately retracts his offer and rolls onto his side. The duvet must be hot - not hot enough for a stubborn fucker like him. "Hey - hey, please. I don't mind if you're spicy. Spicy is good! Spicy is great!"

Hajime buries his head further, muffling something about embarrassment, so Makoto whines and spoons him so that his nose can nuzzle into his hair. It's so short that it has a spiky texture to it. "Hajimeeeee. Heeey. I love you with or without your shirt."

"I'm stupid. I'm so embarrassed," Hajime says, possibly unknowingly shifting his hair spikes into Naegi's face as he shakes his head. "I'm just tired. I say dumbass things."

"Nope," Makoto says. "You say cute things." His arms wrap around Hajime's chubby chest and his lips press against his neck. "And, there _was_  another reason why I wanted to take your shirt off, so... Ten points to you."

"Pfft," Hajime snuffles, one hand coming over Makoto's. His neck twists ever so slightly under Makoto's kisses, and he breathes something of a sigh. "And what's your reason?"

"So I can do this," comes the mumbled reply, and Hajime shudders and giggles at the sensation of a lick against the top of his spine.

"Hey! Fuck off," he says impulsively, hands beneath the pillow and pushing it into his face. His whole demeanour makes it obvious how bashful he is. "You're bored so you want to - what - get freaky?"

Makoto, however, is starting to remember their previous incident. With the... you know what. So, it's his turn to feel a wave of hot embarrassment colour his face, stomach twisting. An awkward laugh sounds from him. "No, no, I always want to get spicy. And, it was you who started this. Actually."

"What? And how did I do that?" Hajime rolls over to face him, and as he does, holds Makoto's arms up. They're dropped once he's comfortable so that they still encircle him.

The pale boy frowns. "Uh? You gave me those 'come to bed' eyes and said-"

"Did not give you come to bed eyes. Did. Not. That's not something I did."

"Did too. Arms spread out all vulnerable and sexy." Hajime covers his face at this, and with one hand attempts to clamp Makoto's mouth shut. He digs at the hand and speaks as best he can. "And you put on music just beforehand. Setting the mood, were we?"

"Oh, what? For you to ask me to call you daddy again?"

Hajime regrets saying it. Makoto regrets _it_. He guffaws, head lolling to the side, unable to face anybody - or anything - when that word is brought within a 5cm range. The pair of them are laughing, but Hajime runs with the joke a little, adding, "Yeah. I'm gonna think of that every time now. You've left a permanent stain."

"You wanted me to dirty talk!"

"When did I ask that?"

"Not when, but how. With your eyes."

Again with the hand-in-face technique that Hajime has developed. That gesture that immediately gets across that, no, he is not doing this conversation right now, or this life, and if he doesn't see it, then it can't hurt him. "I can't speak with my eyes! That's not how anatomy works, Makoto!"

"Buuuuut," Makoto says, a whine dragging out his tone, "do we have to remember it anyways? It was dumb. We're adults. We're over it."

"You might be," Hajime teases.

A deep inhale puffs out Makoto's chest, his eyes closing for a moment. His boyfriend blinks, interested. "I am so sorry, Hinata Hajime, for making you picture your dad whilst we were trying to get it on, and for making you think of that incident every single _time_  we try to get it on," he says, and then has to get his breath back. A look that manages to be a mix of pride and pleading takes his face, eyebrows angled upward on his forehead.

Hajime's face turns a little sweeter. He pauses for a few moments - makes Makoto wait, the little shit - before leaning in and pecking him. Then he looks at him a little awkwardly. "You didn't need to apologise... But, I mean. Thank you."

"Does it give you closure?" the other boy asks hopefully. To this, Hajime nods. He grins and kisses him back, moving his hands to cup the back of his head as he does so. "I'm glad."

"So long as you don't do it again, we're fine," Hajime says, punctuating his sentence with another little smooch. It's adorable.

Makoto is less adorable. "Ugh. I guess I'll have to say goodbye to my secret daddy kink, the-"

"You are on thin ice, mister."

"Okay, okay. Okay. I get that." They meet in the middle again, the air bustling between them as they snuffle little laughs, and then settle down into soft hums. Makoto's tongue pushes past Hajime's lips, who takes a fistful of his shirt as he does so.

When they break apart, lightly flushed and with tingling lips, Makoto adds, "Or do I?" Hajime, done with his baffoonery, just kisses him to shut him up again. There's too big of a risk that he'll spoil the mood for the sixty thousandth time. Luckily, the long haired idiot's words are completely quelled to quiet sounds of enjoyment.

The heat that's, well, always been very present in the room occurs to Makoto as he traces one hand down Hajime's back and feels the wetness beneath his arm. He frowns and takes the next air break as an opportunity to peel his shirt off himself. "I'm gonna burn up if I don't get, like, completely nude. You alright with that?"

Nevermind about the whole... 'Makoto had finally shut up' stuff. Hajime's lips splutter like a Magikarp and he looks to the side as if he's already started going commando. (He hasn't.) But, he decides to meet Makoto at his weird confident game and says, "Yeah, sure. Go for it."

He does not go for it. He pauses and looks at Hajime with almost sad eyes. "... One thing at a time," he says. "I'm fragile. You'll break me."

So, his boyfriend sticks his tongue out at him. "I win," he says, and then yelps as Makoto leans in to capture his tongue in another kiss.

Against his bare back, Hajime's warm palms feel nice. There's just a little squeeze to be felt from them, but what's more evident is the way his fingers absently curl and readjust their grip, almost nervously. One of Makoto's legs wraps around to Hajime's back, and he tugs him closer.

The sun's light casts Hajime into a warm, pink shadow, making him somewhat colder to the touch. It has Makoto thinking about ways of warming him up, and his own face feels as though it just got shoved onto a pile of burning coal.

"Makoto," Hajime murmurs as their noses brush together. There's a second where it's simply the pair of them laying there, gasping for breath, before he continues. "I... love you, y'know."

Makoto's face instantly brightens. "Really," he says, smiling. They eskimo kiss, to which Hajime's eyes narrow sweetly and his grin pushes his cheeks to make those little dimples.

"I love you too," Makoto says. He moves his hand around so that his thumb may run over Hajime's cheek ever so softly.

Still very much embarrassed, the boy nuzzles into his palm, and then leans back into the pillow when Makoto returns to eagerly kiss him. They press together, butterflies stirring in their stomachs, and the domestic smell that Makoto can only describe as Hajime fills his senses.

Hajime's hands take to resting on Makoto's chest, taking fistfulls of fabric in their palms. The Summer sky, the desk, the drawers, the laptop, room, walls, house, general _world_ , feels all too distant as they tug close and wrap around one another. Their kisses, warm and wet, have both their minds wandering, grasping. Makoto's hands startle Hajime's cooler skin, ever so smoothly moving up beneath the edge of his shirt.

The boy swears, a long and very prominent shiver crossing every pore of his skin. His breath ghosts upon Makoto's lips, ever so slightly shaped into a nervous smile. "Hajime?" he asks lightly, quietly, as though the rest of the universe will see them if he speaks any louder. "You sure you're like? In the mood to get freaky?"

"Oh? Did-- No, I didn't mean stop," he says, waving his hands in front of Makoto's face. "That's not what I meant. I just said - 'fuck'. 'Cause, fuck." There isn't any more to that, really. "Just - fuck."

Makoto's smile turns a little more gentle, eyes half lidded, and he shuffles down to have access to Hajime's neck. Hajime stares at the wall opposite, before biting his lip over a soft moan. His boyfriend continues to kiss down his exposed throat, taking in the taste of his skin with hot licks and nips.

Hajime's back arches in his hands. Beneath them he feels his shoulder blades tense as he moves his soft palms down to Makoto's more angular hips.

Somewhat slowly, the smaller boy's hands move around to Hajime's chest to cross his binder and lift ever so gently at the shoulders of his shirt. He beckons through gestures for Hajime to remove it and breaks the kiss to look questioningly at him. To this, Hajime is taken aback for a second, and his chin dips toward his neck.

"Oh - you don't have to," Makoto says, but Hajime soon decides to brave it. He swallows hard and rolls over onto his back, and with a few movements, it's on the floor beside them. When he gets comfortable again, he gives Makoto a look of pride and, 'ta dah!', to which Makoto grins. He gives him a congratulatory kiss.

And then a lot more. His lips trail astray again, this time his hands coming around to hook fingers over Hajime's shoulders. Wet kisses and almost-bites are trickled along his bare skin, all the way down to his collar bone. It occurs to him that they completely forgot about the freckle counting, but the thought passes quickly. More importantly, he takes back their previous position that was lost when Hajime took off his shirt - his leg wraps back around him again, this time with a more prominent warmth and dampness pressing into his boyfriend.

He feels weird for it, but Hajime seems to welcome the sensation. Nudging his thigh up between Makoto's legs, he elicits an audible gasp from the boy, whose hips return the movement. Then begins a slow rhythm of their hips rolling into one another, and more little, breathy swears pass Hajime's bitten lips.

"Is this okay?" Makoto murmurs, but only gets a dragged out moan from Hajime. It must've been accidental, as he shuts his mouth right up again and pushes his face into the pillow. In response, his boyfriend starts on his jaw and ear, circling rings into the shell of it with his tongue. Hajime, his body now responding all the more needily to Makoto's touch, can't help but groan and sigh, Makoto's name passing his lips.

A voice in his head warns him to not say anything stupid. He's sure he won't, but regardless he remains quiet, preserving the way Hajime's jaw drops in a gasp, and the way his lips shudder closed again through sharp inhales. Taking some initiative, he cups Hajime's ass, fully dragging them together. The connection sends his nerves into heated overdrive and almost shutdown, his own laboured breaths whispering out his boy's name.

There's a moment of brief panic for Makoto when he feels there might not be enough happening, so he blindly asks, "Just - tell me what I should be doing," to which Hajime suddenly looks at him in something very akin to distress. To Makoto's surprise, he actually laughs, one hand gesturing dumbly as he makes a kettle noise of confusion.

It's definitely helpful to know he's not the only one lost here.

He laughs too, and Hajime's smile flickers out as he licks his lips and actually addresses the question. "I-I-I don't know," he fumbles, "anything. Just- just touch- me?" He then proceeds to cover his face with both hands, and Makoto takes to kissing his knuckles.

It's enough direction, and without so much hesitation, Makoto proceeds to run his hand down Hajime's front to press into his crotch. The pressure through his trousers has Hajime moaning and buckling into the palm of his hand. He's biting at his nails, and then his fingers in an attempt to just _shut himself up_ , but moans and curses spill from him as Makoto's hand drives between his legs.

Said legs spread as Hajime aims more to hump Makoto's hand, and although the position's awkwardness has him focusing fairly deeply, he dips his free hand into his own pants to stroke his own growing erection. The sight of Hajime, nervous and embarrassed and desperate like that, confident enough to mew for his attention and grind his body up against him, has him hot, sweating and painfully hard.

His stomach flutters - a sweet, sweet sensation, and he jerks off to the sight of Hajime twisted over like that. One hand behind him, to hold him, and the rest of him moving in some way, horny, wet, shuddering, panting.

"Shit," he murmurs, just about audible. Hajime's eyes flicker, and then he dives back into the pillow to hide his face, reluctant to look Makoto in the eye. "Hajime, fuck-, Hajime, I'm so close..."

Hajime's arm twitches out suddenly, grasping Makoto's hand. "C-can-- I'm gonna undo my pants," he says, lets Makoto know, announces. He's so nervous Makoto thinks he's going to cry, but thankfully he doesn't. All he does is what he says he's going to do, and Makoto feels like he can't exactly mess up the implications here.

With more room, he slips his hand beneath the elastic of Hajime's boxer shorts - the mere act of it just causing Hajime to flinch - and pushes two fingers between the slick sides of Hajime's cooch. His grunts become vocal whines now, writhing against his fingers and the spiral pattern rubs of them, though Makoto isn't entirely sure what he's doing (and hasn't been this whole time).

Hajime asks something stuttered like, "Should I be doing anything-?" and Makoto's response is to press their faces a little closer and shush him.

He wants to tell him to shut up, stop it, _don't stop_ , but instead he just stammers, "J-just lie back, baby," and groans halfway into the pillow. Hajime gives him this half-eyed look, parted lips and tongue just held out enough to touch his bottom lip, that looks straight out of a comic. He leans in and kisses him, the connection sloppy and needy and downright drooly.

Gasping and moaning, eyes squeezing shut, Makoto feels the pleasure circulate through his lungs, shaking his body, and it isn't long before he's coming into his own hand.

The feeling washes over him as though a real tide; for a few moments, all he knows is the continued rhythm of his own rocking, the circles he rubs into Hajime's cooch. Hajime moans, voice strained and light, and it cuts off into a gasp as he squeezes his legs together against Makoto's hand. He watches him finish, watches the passionate, aggressive movements of his body begin to drag down into a slow, unsteady twitch, and then to shuddering stillness.

He looks gorgeous. Chin damp with spit, eyes pressed closed in bliss behind thick lashes, hair askew, Makoto really does _feel_  like he's just handfucked his boyfriend. He watches the way Hajime absorbs the sensation and sees him slowly curl up, ever so slightly flinching when he moves his legs even an inch. His hands lay exhausted between them.

When he opens his eyes to Makoto looking at him like that, he almost seems to want to close them again. But, then, one hand comes to cover his eyes, a thin, closed smile pulling on his lips. "Oh, my God," he mumbles, his voice failing and leaving him with a whisper. He repeats it even quieter, faster, before hesitantly meeting eyes again.

He won't look own, but blinks a few times, the hand from his eyes now resting over his mouth. Makoto's still smiling, dizzy and happy even if he's got a definite clean-up of several fabric items ahead of him. Hajime gestures with a flick of his head. "C-... Can you--"

It takes Makoto a second. Face flushing, he mouths a faded "Oh," and manouevres to remove his hand. "Sorry." It's incredibly wet, cold in the open, and Hajime moves to pull his legs up to his chest. The reply is a bare shake of his boyfriend's head, whose gaze now lingers, seeming still surprised and lost, at the pillow.

"... Are you... okay?" Makoto asks, stomach churning with very abrupt worry. He's probably fine, but what if when he asked if he-

Hajime's wide eyes blink a few times, and he turns to look at him and nods. "Mhm," he says behind his hand, and then awkwardly drops his hand. "No - mhm. Mhm! I'm... I'm good." Still flustered, still absolutely anxious, probably, he adds, "Hoo, boy," and shifts a glance elsewhere again.

"You?" Hajime then asks, catching Makoto off-guard.

"I... Yeah. I'm fine. Great, actually," he chuckles. "Just had one of the greatest moments of my life, probably."

The taller boy swallows. "Don't speak too soon."

"I'm serious, though. I mean... Okay, you're embarrassed. I get it. You don't need to-- the hand in the face. Please stop doing that, Hajime. I feel so unloved."

Hajime giggles. "Shut up. I don't know what to say, I'm just..." He looks to the side, taking his hand off Makoto's face. "I'm tired. And overwhelmed. And I want a snack."

" _You_  you want a snack? Oh, so when _I_  want a snack-" Makoto starts, but stops when Hajime gives him one of those looks that can only translate to 'shut up'. Instead he just smiles at him, before checking out the state of his pants and being far less in bliss. The afterglow certainly wears off when he remembers Hajime is going to have to wash his futon.

Hajime sits up after noticing him look. "Oh - um. It's fine. That's cool, dad's out on business."

"... So, it's just your brother that's got to know?"

He receives another chortle. "Izuru is not going to want to know. He's my brother, so he's definitely out of everything intimate that I do with everybody."

Makoto mumbles, "Aww, widdle old me," and gets a cushion thwacked into his head.

"I love you," Hajime says, "but sometimes you test me."

"Fair enough."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks i appreciate ur support for hinaegi we are only a tiny boat out here in this big ocean


End file.
